


John Watson and the Purple Shirt of Sex

by nicefacepotter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:19:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicefacepotter/pseuds/nicefacepotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He absolutely could not possibly be gay.<br/>Maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm Not Gay!

That shirt. That one shirt drove him mad. 

John wasn't gay. He /wasn't/. But...

When Sherlock wore that one purple shirt, the shirt that was a tad too tight and would tug at his torso with every movement, John would melt. He swooned. He had some thoughts that he certainly wasn't proud of. But he couldn't be gay. Could he...?

Sherlock had emerged from his room, wearing the shirt, and took his place across from John. The shirt was especially overwhelming today, and John found himself having to look away. But, of course, Sherlock wouldn't miss that. He didn't, in fact.

"Problem?" Sherlock had already started reading his book on decapitation and didn't bother looking up to direct his question. John's head snapped back up at Sherlock's curiosity, focusing his eyes on the book cover. He knew. He had to know. He's Sherlock.

"I uhh..." He blushed, lightly rubbing the back of his neck. His problem was that /he/ didn't quite know yet. He couldn't be... "Nothing, no. No problem."

Sherlock ignored his book for the time being and quirked an eyebrow. "I believe this is the first time you've lied to me since I met you, John. Do you really want to break that now?"

He swallowed hard. The way Sherlock worded things... No, no. NO being naughty. "It's nothing I can't deal with."

Sherlock sighed. For these sorts of things, he would usually lose interest and just drop it. This was not good. "John. I've figured it out. There's only one time you act this way. Just /say it/." He leaned forward in his seat. His shirt was pulled tighter from the movement.

John couldn't help his eyes wandering. He swallowed once more. "S-say... Say what?"

Being Sherlock, he said it straight forward, no hesitation, no gentleness. "You're sexually attracted to me."

Denial, denial, denial. "Am not. That's ridiculous."

He sighed once more, then off he went. "I recognize the lust in your eyes from how I've seen you look at certain women. Then there's your posture, also recognized, leaning slightly towards me whenever I'm nearby, except when you're probably telling yourself you don't feel the way we both know you do. Your eyes wander. Accidental? Possibly. More likely that you secretly want to take a closer look, but don't have the courage to say anything about it. There there is the typical pupil dilation. And all of these occurrences are made more obvious when I wear this specific shirt. Why this shirt? I can only assume that it makes my appearance more appealing to you, for whatever reason. Which all brings me to the conclusion that you are in fact sexually attracted to me. Simple." He gave a small nod and John blinked a few times. Oh, god...

It was true, then. Even though he barely absorbed what Sherlock was saying, what with how fast he was talking, John knew it was true. He was attracted to Sherlock. Well, shit.

He didn't say another word. He just stood and started to head back to his room. He would have to move out or something. There was no way Sherlock would still want to live with him after this, especially when he would not deny it anymore. He couldn't.

"John?" Sherlock got up and followed. John sped up. "John!" Sherlock didn't catch up until they reached John's room. He grabbed John by the shoulder and flipped him around.

 

And he kissed him.

Sherlock kissed John.


	2. Finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment John has been waiting for.  
> Sex with Sherlock

John was shocked, and before he could even think to kiss back, it was over. Sherlock's lips were gone. John looked up at Sherlock to find he was gazing at him in a way that seemed almost... hopeful. "Sherlock... Does this mean you... Feel the same way?"

"I wouldn't have brought up your behaviour if I didn't." John couldn't help himself. At that, he lunged forward and pressed his lips against Sherlock's, instantly pulling him close. Sherlock responded quite nicely, not even hesitating to show he did indeed mean what he said.

They went on like this for a while. Kissing deeply; snogging. When John started to get comfortable, melting into it, he dared to slide his hands down from Sherlock's curls to grasp his plush arse. God, it felt good. Far better than he ever imagined. Sherlock started a bit at the unexpected squeeze, but certainly didn't mind it. It felt good for him, too, in fact. Though he would most likely never admit to it.

Shortly after John decided to poke his tongue into Sherlock's mouth, barely beginning to explore and taste, Sherlock pulled away. He leaned in nice and close, placing a soft kiss to John's neck before whispering in a husky voice, right next to his hear, "I want you." His words sent shivers down John's spine, leaving his speechless, so all he could do was nod.

This was it. As ridiculous as it sounded, his fantasies were coming true. It was perfect. A bit too perfect, but John wouldn't notice that. He ran his hands up and down the glorious purple shirt that started all this and slowly started to unbutton it, gazing up at Sherlock lustfully.

But... there was something else there, too. Something Sherlock couldn't recognize and, to be honest, he didn't really care what it was. It didn't matter. They would have sex and they could put all of this behind them. Simple enough. He looked back at John with an equal amount of lust, minus the extra something, and let him take his time in this process of disrobing.

When John finally got the shirt off, he tossed it onto the bed for an idea that was brewing in his head. A very naughty idea.

With that, Sherlock took no hesitation in pulling John's jumper right over his head and pushing him onto the bed. He crawled on top of him and kept his face a centimeter from John's, letting him make the next move, like a game of chess. John flipped him over in response, feeling more like they were dancing, in a way. He pulled Sherlock back into a sweet kiss, planning out what he would do next.

Sherlock was beginning to like this game. Less for the lust now, and more for the challenge. Figuring out what John was thinking. Mystified to find he had little idea of what was to come, and that he was too focused on his deducting to take the kiss further. How could John not take advantage of this?

Before he knew it, John had Sherlock's arms tied behind his back and attached to the headboard, having used the shirt as rope. Seeing as Sherlock no longer had the ability to keep the game going, John took over. He slowly took off Sherlock's trousers, then his own. Pants and all.

Heat. Passion. Lust. Bare skin on bare skin. Lips lingering, hands caressing. Nails scraping and teeth nibbling. Biting. Plunging. Stroking. Rubbing. Licking. Trailing. Moaning, groaning.

Fucking.

They went far past their limit. Which was exactly where they intended to go.  
And all over a simple shirt.


	3. It's Only Sexual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was wrong and wishes to God he wasn't.

After Sherlock let John rest on his chest for a few minutes, he sprung up to put his clothes on. John smiled, watching him. "Going somewhere?"

Sherlock nodded, buttoning up his shirt. "Lestrade texted this morning. Nothing urgent, but better than nothing. Now that the sexual tension is over with, we can go about our day as we normally would."

With each of Sherlock's words, John's face sank. "Oh... I thought maybe we can stay in bed for a while longer... I thought..." He ended the sentence with a sigh as Sherlock turned around.

"Stay in bed? Why would we waste time doing something so boring??" Sherlock had his eyes narrowed before he realized what John was saying. His facial expression lightened a bit. It turned out he was wrong; he /didn't/ know how John feels. "You must understand, John. My feelings are purely sexual." He headed towards the door, stopping in the doorway to give a quiet apology before shutting the door and heading to the Yard.

John was left lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with slightly damp eyes, to think. Of course it was too good to be true, just as he first suspected. He shouldn't have believed... He gave a soft sigh and got up to get dressed. What he needed was a good walk and a cup of tea after.

Even so, he knew deep down that he wouldn't be able to fix anything while living under the same roof as Sherlock... He would have to move out. But he wasn't ready to accept that yet.

While John was on his walk, Sherlock was already striding into Lestrade's office, keeping his face composed as his mind was still racing to figure out the situation with John. So John had feelings for him... Alright. He could deal with that. But... John couldn't /love/ him... Could he? It wouldn't make much sense... John had always said he was gay, which had proven to be denial, of course. But... they were best friends. Who happened to both be attracted to each other. Only sexual feelings then, yes?

It was the only thing that made any sense, but no. He must have missed something... Of all the times for him to miss something, it had to be /now/, when his only friendship was in jeopardy? He pushed his thoughts aside, for now, and distracted himself with the silly murder Lestrade had in store for him.

John, on the other hand, couldn't seem to get it off his mind. He wandered to Tesco and bought biscuits, then walked back to the flat. He made tea and had 3 cups with the biscuits. Showered, got dressed, watched telly. Through each thing he did, all he could think about was how Sherlock's lips felt against his, and how he would do anything to feel it again.

And so he decided. He had no choice but to move out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how short my chapters are! I just tend to end it when it sounds like a good ending point... I wouldn't have continued at all, but I needed some angst. Angst is fun. Yes. Even if it hasn't fully hit yet. SO MUCH MORE IN STORE. Even if its lame angst xDD ANYWAYS. Comment and kudos and whatnot. Do as you lot please. I appreciate any views at all <3


	4. Sherlock's an Idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrong again? That's a new record.

By the time Sherlock got home and actually noticed John wasn't at his usual spot on the couch, John was nearly finished packing. He had already called Harry and asked if he could stay with her while he sorted things out. All he needed now was to tell Sherlock... But how?

As it turned out, he didn't need to. Sherlock got a text from Mycroft. Now, normally he would have ignored it, but a text from Mycroft? His brother was always one to call, so the text made him suspicious.

Check on your doctor before it's too late. You need to fix this potential catastrophe. -MH

Sherlock glared down at his phone, thinking of sending back a comment on his weight, before he understood. No. Impossible. Sherlock quickly made his way upstairs. "John?" He found his best friend zipping up his suitcase, unresponsive. "John, don't." When John did nothing but sigh, Sherlock caught his arm and spun him around, then grasped either side of his head to force him to look into his eyes. "You can't leave me..."

John swallowed hard, nervous from Sherlock's touch even in such a serious situation. "And why not, hmm? Why do I have to be stuck in this flat just to be tortured by you? I can't be here when..." He trailed off, voice weak and emotional.

"When I don't love you," Sherlock finished for him. "I understand you're having difficulty with this, and I'm sorry, but it isn't my fault I'm incapable of love. If you are truly my best friend, you wouldn't leave me." Sherlock was trying to be empathetic, he really was. Now it was being proven that he was, without a doubt, a high-functioning sociopath.

"And if you're truly /my/ best friend, you would let me leave," John argued, pushing past Sherlock and staring down at the ground as he walked. Sherlock would have followed, but he knew it was pointless. He simply watched him go, wondering what would come of this. Would John ever come back? Would they still be best friends? Or would Sherlock go back to being alone...?

He sighed and sat on the edge of John's bed, looking around. There wasn't much of a difference, other than it missing a picture frame here and a book there, but the visual wasn't important. He knew John's dresser, once filled with his neatly folded and perfectly organized clothes, was now empty. He knew the sheets of John's bed would no longer be made properly each morning, just to be ruined by his contant tossing and turning again every night. He knew John would never come here after storming off due to whatever offensive or ridiculous thing Sherlock had done. He knew this room was unoccupied.

No longer John's.

He laid back on the cleanly tucked sheets, curling up and nuzzling his face into the smoothed-out, wrinkle-free pillow. He took a deep breath reminiscing in the scent of John's linen laundry detergent, as if he had been gone for weeks (when, in reality, it was only about 10 minutes).

He had to get John back.

As impossible as it seemed, he was prepared to do anything if it meant the return of his best friend. "...But how?" He couldn't remember when he had begun thinking aloud, but it must have been quite a while, judging by the immediate phone call from Mycroft. No surprise, he had a feeling he had put in a new surveillance system. Once again, he thought of ignoring it.

Then again, there was a slim possibility he would have something useful to say on the matter. He answered wordlessly, knowing his brother would speak the second it connected.

"Admit your love for him, Sherlock." His brother sounded irritated, and almost tiresome. It was as if, in his mind, Sherlock was taking too long to come to a simple solution, which was precisely what he was thinking.

Sherlock simply stayed silent, not bothering to vocalize his rebuttal, and could practically hear Mycroft's eyes rolling in his skull. "You've denied your feelings for far too long. It's the only way and you know it."

"I'm incapable of lo-"

"Incapable?" Mycroft cut him off. "No, no, no, my dear brother. Just because you don't understand love, that does not mean you are incapable of it."

Sherlock gave a low grumble and spat, "Prove it." Bad idea. /Very/ bad idea. He couldn't even begin to imagine how wide Mycroft's smirk had just spread.

"You had intercourse with him, did you not?" He paused for dramatic effect, knowing he would receive no answer. "You can pretend it was experimental all you want, but you and I both know if that was your only reasoning, you would have lost your virginity long ago." Sherlock huffed in the break as a response, neither agreeing nor denying. "You wouldn't give that to just anyone... You love him, Sherlock."

In that instant, Sherlock had somewhat of a flashback of his time spent with his army doctor, each moment of what he had always believed to be sexual tension. He ran through the examples he had used in deducing John's feelings, realizing now that Sherlock had the same symptoms, the same reactions, the juxtaposition of their behavior proving it to be true. Mycroft was right...

And Sherlock was an idiot.

All this happened in a matter of seconds, though to him it felt like hours. He was quiet for a moment, then spoke four small words:

"...What do I do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost finished!!! Sherlock should've realized sooner, shouldn't he? 
> 
> Gabriella actually convinced me to keep writing. Haha. I'm sure everyone loves you for it, deary, so the rest of this fic is dedicated to her ;) Love ya!!!


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